A shriek split the cold air, high and fierce and filled with recognition. He looked up.
Jolthar's heart lifted as he spotted the familiar silhouette diving from the clouds above.
Maelruth's wings caught the wind as she spiralled down, her scales gleaming crimson in the sun light. The drake was magnificent in flight; power and grace combined in a form that spoke of ancient bloodlines and wild freedom.
She landed before him with earth-shaking force, her talons carving grooves in the ice as she fought to contain her excitement. The low rumble that emerged from her throat was pure joy, a sound that resonated through Jolthar's bones and reminded him why he had missed her presence so keenly.
"Alright, alright," he laughed, staggering backward as Maelruth's enormous head butted against his chest.
"I missed you too."
The drake's rough tongue scraped across his face in enthusiastic greeting, nearly knocking him from his feet. Her happiness was infectious.
